“What plans?”
What plans, indeed?
“Well, my meeting will take most of the morning. I thought we’d drive south afterward. To Tuscany. Where I keep my horses.”
That did it. Her face lit.
“Oh, I’d love that! And the timing should be fine. I know how these shoots go. I’ll be done by early afternoon.”
“Good. Va bene. That’s it, then.”
“Luca.” She sat forward and reached for his hand. “This could be the chance I’ve been waiting for. If I can show the people who count that I’m easy to work with…” She laughed at the way his eyebrows rose. “Okay. If I can show them that I’m not impossible to work with, I’ll be back in the game.”
“And that’s important to you.”
“Yes. It’s terribly important.”
He nodded, smiled, brought her hand to his lips. “Good,” he said except, what he really wanted to say was, What about me? Am I not important to you, too? Am I not, perhaps, even more important?
But only a fool would say such a thing. Only a fool would want such a thing. Only a fool would build his life on emotion.
And if there was one thing Luca Bellini was never going to be, it was a fool.
CHAPTER TWELVE
By two the following afternoon, they were on the road, heading for the village in the Tuscan hills where Luca bred and raised Arabians.
“How did your meeting go?” Cheyenne asked.
“It went well.” He flashed her a quick smile. “Actually, it went very well. I’m going to design and build a new skyscraper in Manhattan. Fifty stories, all glass. I’m excited to start work. And you? How did things go with the Vogue shoot?”
“Oh, it was fine! I’d worked with the photographer before, which made things easier, and I managed not to tell him what angle to shoot from.” She made a face. “I didn’t even tell the makeup guy that I look better with red lip color than peach.”
Luca chuckled. “Of course you told him.”
“Well, maybe I hinted…”
He laughed, and she joined in.
“I’m impressed,” he said.
“Me, too. Seriously, the agency rep was there and he said he’d give me a call.”
“But not too soon.” Luca reached for her hand. “We’re not going to do anything but enjoy ourselves for the next few days.”
Cheyenne smiled at him. “I’m already doing that.”
He’d rented a car, a bright red Ferrari. He had the same model at his ranch, he said, and he loved driving it. The car flew like the wind, eating up the miles, hugging the tight corners of the impossibly narrow, twisting roads that led south.
He’d scoffed at the idea of taking the Autostrada del Sol.
“The autostrada is fine for speed, but it’s an insult to a car like this one to put it on a straight road and give it nothing more important to do than get its driver and passengers from Point A to Point B. Besides,” he said, with that sexy grin Cheyenne adored, “there’s nothing to keep us from testing the car’s speed on the autostrada another day.”
The further they drove into Tuscany, the more beautiful the rolling hills, meadows and small, ancient towns became.
Cheyenne was entranced by the scenery and by the car, too. She said it reminded her of an ad she’d done for Ferrari, posing beside a vintage Testa Rossa.
“Do you know what year it was?” Luca asked.
“Yes. A ’58. Perfectly restored, of course.”
“Ah. The most beautiful car ever made.”
“When they told me what it was worth, I was afraid to touch it.”
Luca grinned. “Matteo would be proud of you.”
“Does he own a Testa Rossa?”
“Only God and Matteo’s accountants know what he owns,” he said, laughing. “My brother loves fast cars. Ferraris. Lamborghinis. He’s even American enough to own a vintage Corvette.”
“Did your family spend a lot of time in America when you were growing up?”
“We never went to the States at all.” He double clutched and downshifted as they approached a tight curve. “We used to ask our father to bring us there on vacations, but he always had an excuse. Now, of course, we know the reason. We were a secret more easily maintained in Sicily.”
“But all of you chose American universities. Was it hard? Coming to a new country, I mean.”
“Not really. We spoke English, of course, because of our father.” His jaw tightened. “That was one good thing he did for us.”
Cheyenne put her hand over his on the wheel.
“Is he still alive? Your father? I mean, maybe he can explain why he did what he did.”
“He’s very much alive, and he spent the July fourth holiday trying to explain it.” A muscle flickered in Luca’s jaw. “It was an explanation that left much to be desired.”
“But at least he tried to explain. My mother—some parents never do.”
Luca caught her hand in his.
“You were not close with her,” he said softly.
She wanted to laugh, or maybe to cry, but either might give too much away. Instead, she gave the safest answer.
“No.”
There was a brief silence. Then Luca said, “Did she mistreat you, bellissima?”
“Why would you ask me that?” She pulled her hand from his.
“I only meant—”
“I know. And I’m sorry I jumped on you. I just…I don’t like to talk about her.”
“Then we’ll talk about something else. For instance, do you see that road leading into the hills?”
“The one lined with those beautiful tall trees?”
“Si. Italian Cypress.” He shot her a quick smile. “They’re like you. Tall, slender and elegant.”
She laughed, and he reached for her hand again.
“They sigh when the wind goes through them. I always thought that was a wonderful sound, but the sound of your laughter is what is truly perfect.”
She laughed again, but the laughter caught in her throat. Luca looked at her with alarm.
“What is it? Have I said something to upset you?”
“No. Oh, no. It’s just that—that—” She took a deep breath. “I’m glad you asked me to come to Milan with you,” she said softly, “and I’m very, very glad I said yes.”
He wanted to stop the car, take her in his arms and tell her that it was the same for him, that he’d asked her to come with him because he’d thought it would be fun, that it would be an interlude they’d both enjoy, but that it was becoming more than that, that she was somehow changing him…
But it was more than he’d ever imagined saying to any woman.
And far more than his mind was willing to process.
* * *
She fell in love with his ranch.
Rolling green hills. Stately cypresses. Towering oaks. There was even a grove of olive trees, some gnarled and ancient, yet still bearing fruit.
Cheyenne had always loved animals; one of the things that pleased her about her place in upstate New York was that the woods and meadows were home to deer and foxes. There were deer and foxes here, too, and one evening, at dusk, a badger ran across the trail ahead of them.
And then, of course, there were Luca’s horses.
She fell in love with them at first sight, especially with a white stallion.
“He’s an old man,” Luca said as the horse came across the paddock to them, tossed his head, then accepted a carrot from Cheyenne’s outstretched hand. “And he was the very first Arabian I bought. I didn’t know much about them back then.” He smiled as the horse pushed his nose into the curve of Cheyenne’s shoulder. “He likes you.”
“Such a sweet boy,” she crooned. “What’s his name?”
No answer. She looked at Luca.
“Luca? What’s his name?”
Her lover was blushing! It was a charming sight and it made her smile.
“His name is Baby. Don’t look at me that way, cara. I didn’t name him. It was
the name he came with and since he knew it and responded to it, I didn’t want to… What?”
“I had—I knew a horse named Baby a long time ago. Well, that wasn’t really his name. He didn’t have a name at all, so I took to calling him Baby.” She looped her arm around the stallion’s neck, but she seemed to staring into the past. “He was old, too. Very old.”
Why did he have the feeling this was another story that wasn’t going to have a happy ending?
“The people who owned him lived down the road. They kept him tethered behind an outbuilding. His mane, his tail were all matted. Sometimes, they forgot to feed him and to refill the big old copper bucket that was supposed to hold his drinking water.”
“There are some evil people in this world,” Luca said cautiously.
“I began to visit him every day. I combed him. I brought him water. And I fed him—they had lots of feed and hay in their barn for their other horses, but they—they forgot about Baby.”
“Cheyenne. Cara. If this upsets you—”